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BP Mature Audience OnlyMA This blog post is specifically designed to be viewed by adults and therefore may be unsuitable for children under 17. This post may contain one or more of the following: crude indecent language (L) or graphic violence (V).

What You Do Not Smell is Iocaine Powder

By D.M. Wright

“I just thought we could settle this like adults.” I say and hand him the already opened bottle of wine.

“Really? You just thought?” He sneers. He grabs the bottle from me and pours himself a glass. Then he gestures to me with the bottle.

I shake my head. “You know I only drink white.” I fiddle with the napkin. “Please…eat.”

He starts in on the meal I have made. “You know, I was very surprised to get your call.” Still chewing, he downs the glass of wine and pours another.

“I have to admit I did not want to do this. I am very afraid of you and scared of what you will do to me.” I whisper.

He grins wickedly and sits back down. He misjudges where the chair is and lands on the floor.

“Why so clumsy? Did you have something to drink before you came home?” I stand over him with my hands on my hips.

“No!” He frowns, and tries unsuccessfully to get up. Then he looks at me. “You…poison…” He can no longer form words.

I squat down and lean over him. This time I grin wickedly. “Iocaine powder.”

He looks at me with surprise. He is no longer able to move.

“Did you forget I have friends in Australia?” I wink.

“We’re here.”

I snap out of my daydream. “OK.”

We get out of the car at my mother’s house. There is no way I am bringing my boys home to that maniac.

I convince my mother to keep them overnight and tell her that I would be back for them in the morning. Or so I hoped.

I give all my precious babies a big hug and kiss goodbye and tell them to be good for GG. I am brave for them.

In the car I am not so much brave as much as I am a weeping willow tree.

“It will be fine. We will get through this.” He squeezes my hand.

I really wish I could get my hands on some Iocaine powder.

——

About thirty minutes into the forty-five minute trip home, there is a road that I like to take that is off the beaten trail. A short-cut, if you will. This is precisely when the car following us decided to try to run us off the road.

I cry out, startled, when the car hits us from behind.

“It’s him.” I whisper.

He steps on the gas to get some distance between us. I hunch down in my seat and cover my eyes with fisted hands. I can’t watch. My life starts flashing before my eyes. They say it happens when you are about to die. It does. Because it starts with, how did I get into this predicament? Because I married that lunatic. Flash to the wedding. Flash to moving into this condo. Flash to having each child. Flash to a moment in time of waiting for him to come home. Flash to going to bed alone. Flash to meeting the nice, neighbor man. Flash to the pain. Flash to hugging my babies good-bye. Flash to this moment.

The car jerks forward to go even faster and at the same moment, he rams into us again. I am thrown backward and forward within seconds. I feel the seat belt cutting into my neck.

We are literally almost out of the woods when he races up next to us on the driver’s side and veers into us, causing us to swerve off the road into the gravel and grass and trees, losing control of the car.

The car flips over one, two, three – too many times that I lose count. I hit my head on the ceiling. I hit my head on the window. Again on the ceiling; again on the window. Too many times that I lose consciousness.